


When the Night Has Come

by Swordy



Series: Guide You Home [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blind Ignis Scientia, Depression, Everyone needs a Gladio, Heart to Heart Conversation, M/M, Self Confidence Issues, Spoilers for game, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 10:25:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14932466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swordy/pseuds/Swordy
Summary: Noct is in the crystal, the daemon numbers are growing, and Ignis has lost faith in his ability to re-learn to fight. Gladio isn’t about to let him give up.The third story in a series of four written as part of a collaboration with the amazing hanatsuki89.The art for this fic is here: http://hanatsuki89.tumblr.com/post/174893056843/when-the-night-has-come-third-story-from





	When the Night Has Come

Gladio wakes to a series of rhythmic thuds, happening somewhere close enough to stir him from sleep. It’s the third time this week he’s woken to noises and the bed empty and cold beside him. With a bone-weary sigh, he throws off the covers and pads, barefoot, through the building, toward the source of the noises.

It was simply luck that they managed to secure the apartment situated above a small gym in the backstreets of Lestallum; they’d returned from Gralea during the arrival of the first wave of refugees and had been allocated a living space with scant regard for their royal standing. At the time they’d just been glad to have somewhere to stop and regroup in the face of their losses. Noct had been taken by the crystal and the subtle shift toward darkness was becoming more apparent. They were totally adrift - a shield and a chamberlain without a king - and then poor Prompto. They made a sorry threesome.

Slowly though, they’ve started to adjust to this new normal. Daylight is disappearing at an alarming rate and no one is under any illusion about what this will mean with regards to the daemons. Safety in numbers is an axiom they’re all growing to understand, even though the influx of people to the larger towns and cities is presenting all manner of challenges. What had initially felt like a good-natured community affair with all provisions shared equally is quickly becoming more bad-tempered and mercenary. When the city reaches breaking point, a meeting is called where it’s made clear that everyone is expected to pitch in - there are no free rides when there is so much to do and everything is in such short supply.

Once again, their royal associations count for nothing. With the daemon hoards ever growing, skilled fighters are automatically expected to join the ranks of the hunters, working tirelessly to keep supplies and communications flowing between the places still inhabited. Gladio and Prompto naturally fall into these roles, but Ignis becomes the source of much discussion and debate amongst the hunters during this meeting called to create some order amongst the chaos. They know he’s been trained to fight, but he’s _blind_ , his disability negating any advantage having him out in the field. They talk over his head, about him, like he’s not even there, or like he’s deaf as well as blind. And Ignis sits through it all, head bowed, lips pursed, hands resting atop his cane, like his opinions or feelings don’t matter.

And in a way they _don’t_. This new life is about survival against increasingly desperate odds, so injured pride is a luxury Ignis would never allow himself in these times of austerity. Ignis is a pragmatist - he gets why people don’t like the idea of teaming up with someone in his situation, but it’s a painful reminder of everything he’s lost and Gladio knows their comments wound deeply, even if Ignis never says as much.

It’s presumably only Gladio’s glower that prompts the other hunters to remember that the person they’re talking about is _right here_ , and suddenly they’re scrambling to offer some face-saving gesture. They say _it’s okay, he doesn’t need to hunt, there's probably something he can do around Lestallum to pitch in_ , even though they don’t sound like they mean it for one second. Gladio rages in private. He doesn’t want to make enemies and even though he gets where they’re coming from, it doesn’t stop him from hurting for Ignis.

And fearing.

Because Ignis is clearly a man in decline, despite the fact that he never mentions that meeting, or talks about how it feels to be significantly marginalised because of his physical limitations. He joins in with coordinating the relief efforts in Lestallum, but even that’s frustrating for him as being unable to read and write, he still needs someone else to deal with all the paperwork that this task generates. Ignis being Ignis, he does a first rate job. The information is painstakingly detailed and the figures never wrong. But it’s clear he’s just going through the motions as a man who knows he was meant for other things.

Irrespective of the fact that he’s contributing, Ignis views himself as a burden to the ones he loves and cares about, even though no one who matters has ever said or done anything to give him that impression. Gladio's discussed it with Prompto, and they’re in agreement that something must be done or there’s a very real possibility that there won’t be a chamberlain for Noct to return to, whenever that may be. There are too many rejected invitations to socialise; too many silences when they’re discussing subjects that, in the past, Ignis would have had much to contribute toward; too little interest in self-care and well-being. Gladio and Prompto are both sent out on hunts, but so far they’ve managed to avoid being away from Lestallum at the same time. They never directly say why they don’t want to leave Ignis alone, but their rationale is loud, clear and unanimous.

Gladio finds himself thinking about Cartanica as he heads downstairs. Ignis had been so insistent that he come along, despite it being a decision that needed no qualification as to why it was a terrible idea. Keeping a watchful eye on him and witnessing his lack of grace had been stressful and almost physically painful, but he'd had found himself fascinated by how Ignis had used his remaining senses to get him through. _It’s not a lost cause_ , he’d found himself thinking, despite the born protector in him making one final push to get Ignis to stay behind before they moved onto Gralea.

Resigned to the fact that Ignis was determined to stay with them, he'd backed off from pushing his point, conscious of the ever-expanding gulf between them. Instead, he'd channeled his energies into nurturing that spark of tenacity that was keeping Ignis going. Ignis believed he could find a new normal, so Gladio had allowed himself to believe it, too. He’d known Ignis almost his entire life and seen how he mastered anything he decided to turn his hand to. This should be no different. And gradually he’d started to think Ignis might be right.

So if Ignis wasn’t giving up then, he sure as hell shouldn’t be giving up now.

Easier said than done, though. After all, the only thing that had stopped Gralea from being an unmitigated disaster was Ignis's bloody-mindedness, heart-stopping levels of adrenaline and a heavy helping of luck. With the luxury of time to reflect on everything when they made it back to Lestallum, Ignis's confidence had finally shattered. The hunters' judging him inadequate to join them had doused whatever fire had kept him going and Gladio was at a loss at how to reignite it.

Even now, he’d be happy if Ignis decided to lay down his weapons, but ultimately he knows it's not what Ignis wants. And he’s come a fucking long way. But as always, it’s not good enough for Ignis, who always refuses to settle for anything other than perfect.

So now they have good days and bad. No one's under any illusion about how much work it’s going to take to get him back in the field, and the knowledge of that alone clearly haunts Ignis's darkest days, making the task feel utterly insurmountable at times.

Like now.

The tiled floor is cool beneath Gladio's feet. There are no lights on in the gymnasium - there never is when Ignis is alone. He flicks them on as he goes; the thumping noise that had woken him has stopped now, but it’s still better to see what he’s walking into rather than risk a dagger to the face.

Ignis is sitting on the mats furthest from the door. Blades litter the floor and a few are embedded in the wall behind the training dummy set up in corner. None of the weapons appear to have actually hit it. Gladio's heart sinks a little.

“Hey,” he says, reasonably loudly in the echoing space. Ignis's hearing has always been excellent, but when he’s lost to memories or trapped beneath the storm clouds of his own failings, there’s a chance he might miss something said at normal volume. Evidently he hears this, as his head tilts to one side.

“My apologises, Gladio,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically dull and lifeless. His t-shirt is dark with sweat. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” Gladio lies. His hand finds Ignis's shoulder and squeezes it gently. He can’t miss the tension corded in the muscles there. “Why are you back down here? You already did five hours training today.”

Ignis grimaces. From this angle, it’s almost possible to imagine Ignis's face is hardly changed. Just a small cut bisecting his eyebrow, Gladio's own long, deep slashes a million times more significant, if the damage was confined solely to aesthetics. But the eye beneath that brow stays closed for the most part, hiding the now-cloudy iris.

“I needed to work at it some more.”

Gladio sighs. Despite the flatness of his voice, Ignis's expression is pinched, anger rolling off him in waves. He's obviously been down here determined to land his daggers after a morning spent coming close, but not close enough, followed by an afternoon spent brooding on these failures. The fact that none of his weapons appear to have found their target on this second outing, will do little to quell the tide of impotent rage that lies just beneath his calm exterior.

“How’d it go?”

Ignis lets out a long, frustrated breath. His head drops between his knees. “It didn’t. I’m bloody useless.”

The words are spoken with undisguised contempt. Ignis has always been hard on himself, but never more so than these last few months.

“No, you’re no—” Gladio starts to say as he moves to sit down. It’s at this point he sees Ignis’s hands. “Iggy, what the hell?”

Obviously Ignis doesn’t know what he’s seen, but he flinches when Gladio takes hold of one of his hands. He doesn’t resist as Gladio turns the appendage over, then takes the other one and does the same.

They’re a mess.

They're raw and blistered, the meat of them shredded through overwork. His fingers, so long and talented in numerous ways look bruised and cracked. And then the blood. Both sides of those previously immaculate hands are covered in wounds. The most significant ones are on his palms and fingers - presumably the result of summoning his daggers and miscalculating their orientation when trying to spin or throw them. There’s one that runs diagonally across each palm, the left one particularly nasty. The fact that Ignis doesn’t appear either to care or have noticed speaks worrying volumes about his increasingly detached mental state.

“Stay here,” Gladio instructs, even though Ignis doesn’t look like he’s about to go anywhere. With a quick glance back, he hurries to the small restroom across the corridor from the gymnasium. Under the sink he finds a bowl that he fills with tepid water. He grabs some paper towels and the small first aid kit, and carries everything back through to the training room.

Unsurprisingly, Ignis is exactly where he left him, sitting, head bowed, with his hands dangling over his knees. Gladio ignores the knot in his stomach that pulls tighter as he sits down opposite him. Ignis looks exhausted and utterly beaten down. His hair is flattened with sweat and it hangs limply in his eyes. Gladio folds one of the paper towels and dips it in the water before squeezing out the excess. He starts on Ignis's left hand, carefully cleaning away the blood, mindful of the wounds. His eyes flick up to Ignis's face, but his expression may as well be cast in marble, it changes so little.

“So, you wanna talk about it?” Gladio asks.

The seconds pass and Ignis says nothing, but the heavy silence is broken by the occasional drip of water from the paper towel as Gladio works cleaning off the blood. Instinctively he wants to fill the void, but instead he gives Ignis space. Ignis will never ask for it, but the need is no less. Eventually, there’s a weary sigh.

“I hate this, Gladio,” Ignis says softly. “I hate being blind. I hate being vulnerable. I hate being a burden. I hate that I couldn’t save Noct. I hate being somebody I was never supposed to be.”

That knot tightens a little more. Gladio focuses on the swish of the paper towel in the ever-reddening water.

“I should have died in Altissia, Gladio.”

“Thank fuck you didn't. It was a miracle you survived.”

“Was it?” Ignis replies distantly. Although there’s no eye contact to make, his head is still turned away. “At the time I might have agreed, but now I’m not so sure.”

Gladio stops cleaning, his pulse quickening at what Ignis is really saying.

“Or Cartanica... or Gralea,” Ignis continues. “You were right; I had no business being in either of those places. I would have been killed if it hadn’t been for you and Prompto and Noct.”

There’s a dark edge to those words - it's certainly not gratitude he’s expressing, at any rate. Maybe at the time Ignis didn’t go into those situations with a deathwish, but it’s clear he's not happy about the fact that he made it out. He gives a bitter laugh.

“I didn’t die, and yet I was consigned to Hell anyway.”

“Iggy, stop _please_.”

Gladio resumes working. The cut across Ignis’s palm wells with fresh blood. A potion would fix it instantly, but Ignis would never agree to it, even if they had ones to spare. “I can’t listen to you talk this way.”

“I’m sorry,” Ignis replies after a handful of seconds. “Self-pity is a loathsome trait.”

Gladio controls his breath as he exhales, not wanting it to sound like a sigh. He feels like a jerk; he invited Ignis to talk, then asked him to stop.

“You’re entitled to feel sorry for yourself,” he says, “but I can’t listen to you tryin' to convince me it’d be better if you weren’t here. Yeah, I’m not gonna lie; I’d have been happy if you’d stayed behind when we went onto Gralea, but I was also glad you came. You’re a large part of why we made it outta there alive.” Before Ignis can argue this point he says, “Hang on; I need to change the water.”

Only once he’s alone in the restroom does he allow himself to acknowledge the cold bite of fear. He grips the edge of the basin, feeling uncharacteristically adrift and afraid. What if nothing he can do or say will pull Ignis from his dark thoughts? Ignis would know exactly what to say if their roles were reversed.

He rinses the bowl, watching the bloody water swirl and disappear down the drain, before re-filling it with fresh water and heading back. On a whim, he closes his eyes and vows to try and make the return journey without sight, to experience Ignis's world but for a few moments. He’s already got an unfair advantage since he knows the layout of the building already, but the reality is it’s frustrating and the urge to just open his eyes and simplify what he’s trying to do is too strong to resist. He restores his vision and goes back to the gym, feeling guilty about how easily he caved.

Once again, Ignis cuts a desolate figure alone in the gymnasium. Gladio makes his way over, although his eyes are on the training dummy standing sentry in the corner. He frowns and detours over there as something catches his eye, which he'd not seen when he came in the first time. On closer inspection, some of the blades, even though they’ve missed, have obviously caught the mannequin a glancing blow before embedding themselves in the wall behind.

Ignis is improving, even if he doesn’t realise it.

Gladio smiles to himself, that one small discovery shining like a beacon in a storm.

“You know,” Gladio says as he comes to sit crosslegged on the mat. “I remember the day when Cor told you to take up a pole arm.” He dips some paper towel in the fresh water and goes to work on Ignis's right hand. Ignis frowns, but doesn’t say anything.

“You were really pissed. I remember you went on an' on about how unfair it was, and why was he making you do it when he knew you preferred using daggers.”

“I’m sure I didn’t complain _that_ much.”

“Oh, trust me, you did.” He glances up from his task to see the ghost of a smile on Ignis’s lips. “Why _were_ you so angry about it?”

Ignis's expression shifts as he considers the question. For a moment, Gladio thinks he’s not going to get an answer at all. Sullen, brooding silences have become too familiar of late.

“I'd chosen daggers. I liked using them; I was _good_ at using them. I’d trained and worked so hard and just as I was at the point where I was confident and proficient with them, Cor made me switch weapons. It was frustrating being back to square one.”

“Because you wanted to stick with the weapons you were best at.”

“Naturally.”

Gladio nods even though Ignis can’t see it. Both hands are now clean, so he takes some more paper towels and begins to dry them gently. “I remember watching you with that pole arm. You were throwing it an' missing and almost overbalancing. You’d spin it and it’d hit the floor and you’d almost whack yourself in the face with it.”

“I’m glad I provided such good entertainment for you,” Ignis says dryly.

“You’re missin' the point. The biggest obstacle you had to overcome was yourself. You hated not being good at something, and that was magnified when you knew there was something else you could be doing better. The angrier you got, the more you fucked things up. And yet you couldn’t see it. You were too busy being pissed at Cor for forcing you out of your comfort zone.”

Gladio lets the silence hang for a moment as he uncaps the antibiotic ointment and squeezes some onto his fingers. He regards Ignis's expression, the downturn of his mouth and the slump of his shoulders, at odds with his normally impeccable posture. He's massaged the cream thoroughly into both hands before Ignis says anything in reply.

“Whilst I appreciate there’s a point to this trip down memory lane, I hardly think it’s the same.”

“Why not?”

Gladio's ready for Ignis's weary cynicism, now worn like a jacket he’s unable to remove. Before, there were plans, schemes, counter-measures and backups. Plans B, C, D and beyond, even though they rarely needed them with Plan A always being so well thought out. Now, there are reasons, justifications - never _excuses_ \- why something is destined for failure before it’s even begun, like the darkness has snuffed out everything that made Ignis calm and composed in the face of adversity.

Ignis huffs, irritated. “Admittedly I was impatient to improve, but at least I had transferable skills.”

Gladio takes out a piece of gauze and cuts it in two. Gently, he places it on the twin cuts on Ignis's palms. At least they’ve stopped bleeding. “And you don’t now?”

“Come now, Gladio,” Ignis replies, his tone more scathing than he normally ever uses with Gladio. “Surely you don’t expect to convince me that it’s so simple?”

Undeterred, Gladio opens the first roll of bandage and starts to wind it gently but firmly around Ignis's left hand. He wraps it up to the second knuckle, restricting the broader movement of his fingers. They need to heal and that won’t happen if he gives Ignis complete freedom to move them because he’ll be back down here again tomorrow night once he thinks Gladio is asleep.

“It ain’t remotely simple,” he says, thinking of before when he’d closed his eyes to see what it was like and gave up almost as quickly. “But we ain’t talking about some average joe either. You’re Ignis Scientia. That should mean something to you. It _used_ to mean something to you.”

He secures the bandage and starts on the other hand, avoiding looking at the other man's face as Ignis considers what he’s just said. The answer, when it comes, is softly spoken, defeated.

“I’m not the same man, Gladio.”

“No, you’re not,” Gladio agrees, undeterred. “I ain't gonna patronise you and say nothing's changed, Iggy. You’re dealin' with shit on top of shit, on top of _shit_. But it’s never even occurred to you that, given time, this new Ignis could be _better_ , has it?”

Ignis makes a face as if he’s about to protest, then settles instead for a look of resignation like he hasn’t got the energy to fight. “Whilst I appreciate the vote of confidence, there’s not even the remotest chance that could be true. Take this for example. I’m practising and I’m getting precisely nowhere.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Come on.”

Gladio stands, hooking Ignis under the arm to bring him to his feet as well. He places his hand in the small of Ignis's back to guide him across the room toward where the training mannequin stands cloaked in shadow.

“What was it you were practising?” Gladio asks as they walk.

Ignis starts his answer on the back of a sigh. “I was starting from the mannequin then moving twenty paces away. When I got to twenty I was turning five times to see if I could reorient myself with where it was. I’m aware most of the things we fight aren’t silent, but I need to be prepared for an assailant who moves stealthily.” He gestures toward it. “As you can see though, I haven’t managed to hit it at all. Not even close.”

“Not true.” Gently, Gladio guides Ignis’s bandaged hands up to the mannequin’s torso, specifically to one side where the fabric and foam is shredded. The seconds tick by as he gives Ignis a moment to figure out what he’s touching. “Some of your daggers that hit the wall caught it on the way past. You’re so focused on where they ended up, you didn’t even consider what happened on the way from Point A to Point B.”

“But none hit it,” Ignis reiterates, although he doesn’t sound quite as convinced of his failure as he did before.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re getting closer. Every journey starts somewhere, right?” Gladio pulls Ignis toward him, his hands rising to cup the other man's face. “And you’re not going on it alone.”

Ignis allows himself to be drawn forward into a kiss. It’s chaste and tender and imbued with every ounce of love Gladio feels for the other man. When it ends, he keeps Ignis close, their foreheads resting against each other's.

“Remember what you said that time in Cape Caem?”

“I do.”

“Tell me then.”

Ignis makes an impatient sound as he draws back, knowing full well that Gladio remembers the conversation word for word. Evidently he decides to humour him anyway.

“You asked me what I wanted for myself, if I could have anything in the world. And I said that the one thing I wanted more than anything was to marry you and make a home with you when all this was over.”

“You did say that, didn’t you? And what did I say?”

Ignis smiles at the memory. “You said that you’d move heaven and earth to make sure it happens.”

“Exactly.”

“Sadly, I’d meant when we’d seen Noct to Altissia for the wedding.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Gladio answers, shaking his head. “Because I'm still gonna do it, Iggy. We're gonna get you back on your feet, ready for when Noct returns. And once all this is over, you an' I are getting married.”

Ignis smiles, and for the first time the expression looks genuine.

“Your optimism is touching, Gladio.”

“Hey,” Gladio says softly, his hand cupping Ignis's cheek again. “If I’ve gotta be optimistic enough for the both of us, then so be it. Okay?”

“Okay,” Ignis repeats.

“So no more sneaking extra practice without me. I know the hard work's on you Iggy, but let me share the load.”

“I will,” Ignis promises.

“But not now. Now, I wanna take you back to bed and show you how much I love you, and how there's stuff that you’re already amazing at without your sight. You good with that?”

Even in the dim light it’s possible to see the curve of Ignis’s smile broaden further. He nods.

“Lead the way.”

 

  
**End**

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first story I wrote when Hanatsuki suggested a collaboration that had a focus on hands. I can totally see why she enjoys drawing hands, because the art she drew for this fic is amazing. Thank you once again for being a fab friend and so much fun to work with! <3
> 
> Can I also say a huge thank you to everyone who has left comments and kudos so far. You’re lovely, awesome people. :)


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